


the gods wanted you back

by ursahelianthus



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Couches, F/M, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Chinatown, Team Bonding, a moving van, a traumatized team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursahelianthus/pseuds/ursahelianthus
Summary: In which our heroes relocate to a new safehouse in the days after Chinatown and try their best to dodge bullets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the last stanza of the poem _Loss_ by Hilda Doolittle.
> 
>  
> 
> _I wonder if you knew how I watched,_  
>  _how I crowded before the spearsmen—_  
>  _but the gods wanted you,_  
>  _the gods wanted you back._

It’s been four long days since Rufus died, and they’ve barely even had time to reel from the shock. The moment the team had left for 1888, Denise had started filling out the reams of paperwork necessary to transfer them to a new safehouse. Among other options, there was a converted mine in the Sierra Nevadas that she’d kept an eye on ever since Wyatt brought Jessica to the bunker. The location was even more isolated, cut into the western side of a mountain with only pine forests for miles around. Strategic for security but a pain for everything else. Denise had been bracing herself to break the news to her battered, grieving, exhausted team when the Future Lifeboat bombed in. 

Which— _really?_ Future Lucy and Future Wyatt knew full well that the move was happening. They couldn’t have waited another two days to make their unnecessarily dramatic entrance? With that kind of flair, Denise would have bet anything that Future Flynn was piloting. 

But there they were, just the two of them, apparently fresh from the apocalypse and laying down a challenge to save Rufus. Poor Jiya gaped up at them with still-bloodshot eyes and a devastatingly hopeful expression, undoubtably trying to prioritize which of a hundred questions to ask first. She hadn’t seen this coming, then, even with her new ability to control the visions. Present Lucy and Present Wyatt short-circuited, mouths hanging open in identical expressions of disbelief, looking frightened at the sight of their future selves. It was uncanny and awful to see the two sets of them without Rufus to complete the trio. Connor was grinning like he won the lottery while vacationing at a distillery on Christmas, and predictably, Flynn couldn’t take his eyes off Future Lucy. He stared at her even more adoringly than he stared at Present Lucy, which was saying something. He already looked at Lucy like she hung the moon, so Denise supposed that made Future Lucy the goddess Diana herself—from the Latin _dies_ , to turn darkness into daylight; identified with the moon _luna_ and the light-bearer _Lucinda_ from the word _lucere_ , to shine; and maybe most fittingly, a huntress and protectress of human life also known as Diana Omnivaga, the celestial wanderer. Huh, that classics seminar in college was useful for something after all. 

Denise wasn’t about to deny that this was a hell of a deus ex machina, and far be it from her to turn her nose up at a miracle of time travel when she had gotten one of her own thirty-seven years ago, but the safety of the team came first. Always. She had to get this move underway. 

Future Lucy nodded at Denise in greeting before jumping down from the Lifeboat. “We’ve got a lot to fill you all in on, but let’s get this move underway first. Denise?”

Jeez, did they develop telepathy in the future too? The team continued to stare as Future Wyatt jumped down, and Present Wyatt unconsciously rubbed at his beardless chin. Denise sighed. “Everyone.” The Futures turned politely to her, both their right hands coming to rest on their holstered weapons, and the rest of the team slowly turned to follow suit. “We’re relocating to a new bunker immediately, seeing as this one has been compromised. Pack whatever you want to bring and be ready to load up in two hours. Connor, Jiya, you’ll have to oversee packing the electronics as well. I know it’ll take longer; draft whoever you need to help. And people, I know you’re all tired and I know you want to get straight to interrogating these two about Rufus, but please get going. We’ll be lucky if the Mothership doesn’t come and crush both Lifeboats in the next five minutes.”

Present Wyatt flinched, and Denise paused to let that all settle in. Flynn was the only one who outright glared, but Bearded Wyatt looked pretty disappointed in his younger self, and the rest of the team just looked overwhelmed but determined. Good. A concrete task should help them focus and cope, and they really needed get out of here soon. Future Lucy remained unruffled, though her attention was on Flynn, who was swaying a little on his feet and trying to hide it. 

“I’ll have the guards bring the cars around. The new bunker is five hours west, higher up in the mountains.” There were a few frustrated groans, and Denise wasn’t looking forward to a bunker that she knew had even fewer windows, but they would take what they could get. “It’s relatively close and all I could do on short notice. We don’t have to stay there for long, but we definitely can’t stay here,” she said gently. 

“Wait,” Jiya said, finally finding her voice. She turned to Future Lucy. “Can you tell us if or when the Mothership is going to land here?”

Future Lucy exchanged a glance with Future Wyatt, both their faces unreadable. “In our timeline it didn’t, but every jump changes the multiverse in ways we still can’t fully predict,” Future Lucy said carefully. 

“Trust your boss and go pack,” Future Wyatt said to the group. “In our experience, Denise tends to be heroically precautious. Jiya, when you’re done with your room, I’ll help you with the electronics and bring you up to speed on the tech.”

Denise could see the team was further unsettled by Future Wyatt’s dismissal, mild as it was. With Present Wyatt deep in the doghouse, no one was quite sure of what to make of his future self’s command and confidence, or the apparent trust between him and Future Lucy. With a few more backwards glances, Jiya, Connor, and Present Lucy dispersed to their rooms. Future Wyatt went to his Lifeboat to rummage around, ostensibly for whatever he needed to give to Jiya. 

Flynn was back to staring at Future Lucy, and he took a few steps toward her, uninjured arm slightly outstretched. “Lucy?” he rasped. He coughed once and tried again. “Lucy, is it you?”

“Garcia.” Future Lucy’s face transformed as she smiled with obvious affection, so that answered one question, but there was an undercurrent of sorrow she couldn’t keep simultaneously hidden. “It’s good to see you.” She closed the distance between them and reached out to take Flynn’s hand, and they both relaxed a little with the contact. “Go on and pack your things, all right? I need to talk to Denise, but I’ll come find you right after.”

Flynn stayed put though, his dark eyes never straying from her face, gripping her hand as if she would disappear if he let go. Denise had never seen him so uncertain.

“It’s okay,” Future Lucy murmured, reassuring. Flynn held her gaze for a long moment, but as always, did as Lucy asked. 

Future Lucy watched him closely as he left, brow furrowing. She turned to Denise. “Has he seen a doctor?”

Denise shook her head. “He refused of course, but a trauma surgeon should be here in about ten minutes. I swear he’s wearing that damn red turtleneck so the blood won’t show.”

Future Lucy laughed and her posture eased a little more. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, would you care to explain what on earth is going on?” 

Future Lucy squared her shoulders like a soldier making a report, but she dropped all pretense and spoke with such resigned heartbreak it took Denise aback. “In our timeline, Rufus has been dead for five years. Rittenhouse has pretty much won. The world is unrecognizable. Jiya eventually built the tech necessary to travel into our own timelines, but Connor was right about the many-worlds interpretation. We almost died the first time we tried jumping back to Chinatown, which is also when we realized that we had jumped into an entirely different branch of the past. Locating this particular thread of the multiverse and then actually navigating here and now planting the technology? It’s a Hail Mary. We can’t stay long.” 

Future Lucy sure didn’t pull her punches. She didn’t look at all optimistic, either. The sweet, diffident, bright-eyed historian Denise had first recruited was nowhere to be seen in this formidable and careworn warrior. Denise felt a pang of guilt, but then again, Lucy had been involved long before she’d joined the team whether she knew it or not. She’d never had a choice. 

“Okay, Lucy,” Denise said after a pause. “Okay. The team has always been yours, and you know we’ll do whatever it takes to save Rufus. What do you need from me?”

“Keep going after Rittenhouse in the present. Emma will recruit extremely aggressively to replace the followers who were loyal to Keynes, so you’ve got a short window to try to arrest and interrogate purged members, and maybe slow down recruitment while she reorganizes. Blackmailing regular folks into becoming sleepers or binding them to the cause as children like Jessica? That was Keynes and my mother. Emma will try to find people like her—whip-smart, angry with the world, nothing much to lose. You’ll need more help. Put together a second team, people you trust, to work on locating the current headquarters and dismantling more of their network. Try going after the money. We never could figure out where the bulk of their funding came from.” 

Future Lucy stopped to pull in a breath, and her demeanor softened again as something else occurred to her. “And Denise? Keep taking care of us. We get lost in these missions and altered realities, but you’ve never failed to ground us and feed us and keep us safe when we get back. We don’t thank you enough for it.” For an instant Future Lucy looked so young, looked like a girl who missed her mother. 

“Lucy. Come here.” Denise pulled her into a tight hug and felt her release a shaky breath.

“You don’t mind me all grimy?” Future Lucy asked. 

“I am still so proud of you,” Denise answered as she pulled back. “And I will do my very best to take down Rittenhouse and to keep you all reasonably healthy and sane. How’s that?” Denise smiled, and felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. “That’ll be the doctor. Go find Flynn, and I’ll let the doc in and send him after you.” 

“Thank you,” Future Lucy said again, and she turned and strode off quickly in the direction of Flynn’s room.


	2. Chapter 2

Flynn held a roll of tape in his left hand and scowled at a small stack of flattened cardboard boxes. His modern clothes were already in tidy piles on his bed, the historical suits were laid out over the back of his armchair, and most of his books sat in the seat. But this damn sling, the damn gunshot wound, damn Emma, damn Jessica and Wyatt and their Rittenbaby— Flynn couldn’t even make a cardboard box. All the two-handed tasks involved in moving house were just adding insult to injury.

This day was already positively horrendous on the scale of godawful days Flynn had endured in his life. The worst in a long time, and why did it have to be Rufus — _Rufus_. God. Flynn knew it was a bad idea to get sucked into this bunker family. Knew it and let it happen and now losing Rufus hurt more than the gunshot, felt closer to losing his girls than losing a fellow soldier, and boy, Flynn was in it deep this time, because he felt guilty and responsible and hated that Jiya had more to suffer, and _then_ hearing Wyatt confess his love to Lucy gutted him even more than the rest. But that one was inevitable. There hadn’t been much time to process what had happened with Lucy in that alley, and now Future Lucy- 

“Hey, Garcia. Need a hand?”

Flynn whirled around and grunted as a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder. “You snuck up on me,” he accused. “When did you learn to do that?” He started toward her reflexively, for a moment absurdly proud that she’d acquired a stealth mode, but stopped abruptly at the edge of her personal space. He was suddenly unsure of the rules between him and Future Lucy, who had showed up with Wyatt in tow and said _good to see you_ like Flynn hadn’t been with her in a long time. 

“Can’t give away all my secrets,” Future Lucy said, holding back a smirk. It was jarring to see levity in this older Lucy, and Flynn’s instincts were so muddled now he couldn’t even tell if he was drawn to her or if he wanted to shy away as she moved closer to him. He froze as she lightly touched her fingertips to his injured arm. “A doctor’s here to fix up your shoulder, by the way.” 

Flynn immediately opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “No. You look like you’re about to pass out from blood loss. You’re going to let him patch you up and then you’re going to take some muscle relaxants and painkillers, because there’s no point in torturing yourself and you’ll heal faster with proper medical treatment anyways.”

Flynn gave in with a rueful smile. “You know, Lucy — current Lucy — said the same thing, but much more nicely.”

Future Lucy just grinned as she led him by the elbow to sit on the bed. Maybe there was still hope if Future Lucy was spending this precious time looking at him like that. She took the packing tape from him, but he caught her hand before she could start on the boxes. “Lucy-” 

A knock on the door cut him off, and an unfamiliar voice identified himself as Dr. Reid and asked for a Mr. Flynn. 

“In here,” Flynn grumbled, but he didn’t let go of her hand as Reid entered. 

The doctor was maybe mid-fifties, had a government-issue duffle bag slung over his scrubs, and carried himself like an army medic, but he looked a little bewildered as he entered the room. Probably all the firepower Lucy still had strapped on. Also Flynn, who 100% looked like an assassin. And there was the fact of their WWII-era underground accommodations with the filing cabinets for wardrobes and the two ( _two_ ) hard-to-miss enormous spaceship orbs in the docking area. Reid didn’t comment though, only dialed up professional mode and asked Flynn if he wanted to take the turtleneck off himself or whether he should cut it off. 

Future Lucy stifled a laugh at that, and Flynn shot her a look of utter betrayal. She laughed aloud then, squeezing his shoulder as she stood, and Flynn felt something inside untwist at the casual affection in her touch. A habit from the future, then, something he could look forward to. Something he could work towards.

The doctor snapped on latex gloves and took out sterile packages and medical supplies, reaching first for a small clear vial and a syringe.

“No drugs,” Flynn said firmly. 

Dr. Reid looked over and sized Flynn up. “How bad is the pain, on a scale of one to ten.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Flynn, the bullet is still inside your shoulder. Debrieding this wound isn’t going to be pleasant.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

“Garcia, come on. Take the painkillers, if only to make Dr. Reid’s job easier.” Future Lucy managed to sound both encouraging and exasperated. 

“No. I can’t be foggy from meds. If Rittenhouse comes-”

“Then I’ll protect you.” 

Future Lucy looked steady and sure, standing guard, and Flynn was stunned by the quiet conviction in her voice. Battle-hardened Lucy could actually protect him from Rittenhouse, he realized, and a fresh wave of grief for Present Lucy chased a swell of empathy and love for both versions of her. 

Future Lucy held his gaze as she spoke. “Dr. Reid, skip the morphine. A local anesthetic and a few Tylenols will be fine, and he’s going to need some help getting out of this sweater.”

Flynn sighed. He didn’t really want Future Lucy watching as he struggled out of the turtleneck and lay down for wound cleaning and possible bullet extraction, but there was no way in hell he would send her away. Amongst the turmoil and through the pain, he felt an irrational but overwhelming fear of her leaving, and a related but equally pathetic need for her stay in his sight. Maybe it did have to do with all the hurt – made him want her instead of wanting to be alone. 

For a brief, insane moment, Flynn wondered which version of her he was supposed to want. The Lucy he loved was down the hall, but weren’t they were the same person, and how did the surreal contrast between the protectiveness of Future Lucy and the dismal situation with Present Lucy manage to scramble his brains so efficiently. 

The doctor injected a nerve blocker and started prodding the wound. Future Lucy was assembling cardboard boxes with quick, economical movements and keeping an eye on the shirtless proceedings rather appreciatively. It was incredibly disorienting that Present and Future Lucy looked so alike but looked at him so differently, and neither of them matched the version of her who had found him in São Paulo. 

Future Lucy put his clothes and books into the boxes and came over as the doctor started stitching up the wound. Flynn felt a little trapped with the two looming over him, unused to the attention and being fussed over like this. Lucy looked at Flynn for a moment, assessing what, he wasn’t sure, then turned her focus to the doctor. Seemed as though she’d gotten over her aversion to blood, and had apparently started to learn field surgery as well. 

Fine, she can take the credit for these stitches anyway. Flynn would have refused — did refuse — but was overruled. He watched Future Lucy watch as five neat sutures closed the ragged hole in his chest. The cleanly healed scar he’d one day have would be hers, then, and it would be proof that she mended him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little one

After the doctor left and before Flynn could say anything, Future Lucy excused herself with an apologetic look. She had to go find Jiya and Connor for their crash course in time travel 2.0. A sigh and a short deliberation later, Flynn decided that if the others were doing electronics, then the books were his next priority for packing. Lucy would want them, anyway. 

The right side of his torso numbed and bandaged, he made his way slowly down the hall. With his left hand he dragged the extra boxes Future Lucy had made him to what was aspirationally referred to as the library – really just a long row of cubbyholes with more than enough rust to match the rest of the bunker. He was only halfway through the first section when Present Lucy, his Lucy, walked in. Of course. It was her classification system, after all; she’d want to pack the books herself.

He took in her flowering bruises and defeated posture as she set down a couple of boxes of her own just inside the doorway. All at once he was nervous, hyperaware of being alone with her for the first time since Chinatown, not at all confident in his ability to avoid more emotional fallout. 

She studied the new sling and the empty jacket sleeve hanging at his side, and looked back up at him with a bit more resolve. Flynn swallowed and gestured to the shelves, deferring to her expertise, but she shook her head in gentle rebuttal – he was doing fine. She went to the far side of the shelves, Early History of Indigenous Peoples, and they worked toward each other in shared silence. 

It was habitual by now for him to orient to Lucy, to study and anticipate her, and his head cleared as he attuned to this Lucy once more. He’s made a practice of tuning into her and being tuned by her. Through much trial and error, they have finally found the right wavelength, or channel, or the right cosmic oscillation frequency for all he knows. They’ve learned to match each other, resolving into a kind of harmony beyond just sympathetic resonance. 

Now in the room he sensed her exhaustion, read pain in her stiff carriage, knew some of the same screwed up darkness and fury and hope. He consciously let his own anxiety ease as he tucked volume after volume away, and was rewarded as they each calmed in the presence of the other. By the time he met Lucy in Antebellum South twenty minutes later, they were both standing a little straighter. He managed a lopsided smile as she took the last book from his outstretched hand, and she answered him aloud. 

“I don’t know how I’m feeling. Everything is excruciating.”

Ah. Flynn’s hair fell forward as he inclined his head, concurring with her grave assessment, trying to catch her eye. He followed her line of sight to his bandaged wound and acceded to the subject change. “Five stitches, the sling for a week, and I’ll probably need physical therapy too.”

Lucy made a small, sorrowful sound. “God, Flynn.”

“I, um, lost a lot of blood, but there shouldn't be permanent damage. If it helps, future you made me take painkillers.”

She looked up at him.

“It does help,” he affirmed. He moved to hold the box closed with his good arm, and she taped it shut with deliberate care. “You always do.”

She smoothed out the tape with her palm in one slow movement. Contemplatively rubbed her thumb across the box seam. “And you make everything easier to bear.”

The moment stretched out between them, a tenuous stillness, declarations hovering undeclared. He couldn’t possibly push that on her now, but she was looking straight at him. Straight into him. She knew. 

Something shifted as awareness dawned, and Flynn ducked his head, quietly overcome. He looked back up at her in wonder. 

“We’re okay then.” She whispered as if just to make sure. Oh but she knew. She knew, and she was still here.

Flynn held on to that talisman of a thought as he nodded. “Yes, Lucy, we're all right." He ventured one more pledge. "It’ll keep.”


	4. Chapter 4

With the library packed and the electronics left to the experts, Flynn and Lucy realized there wasn’t much left for them to do inside. Most of what remained belonged to the bunker and had probably been there since before they were born. Lucy did grab her favorite desk lamp, though, and Flynn took the liberty of appropriating a few of the larger kitchen knives just in case. Mason would have packed the alcohol stash, and Denise was securing their armory for safe transport. 

When the technical meeting broke up a few minutes later, the Wyatts started bringing all the boxes up the ladder to surface level. They took on the task unprompted, methodically clearing each room in unnerving synchrony. Younger Wyatt kept his head down, didn’t talk to his future self. He could barely look anyone in the eye, and he was positive no one wanted anything to do with him anyway. Half the team was injured and the other half was dismantling servers, so manual grunt work was really the least he should do. It hardly counted towards his penance, but being of use made him feel a tiny bit less like a one-man disaster of Homeric proportions. 

Jessica’s betrayal — or her deception, since apparently she had never been on their side — was an immaculate knockout. He’d let her straight in and insisted on her innocence, and no part of him wasn’t bruised and sick and sorry from it. Between Jiya’s kidnapping, messing everything up with Lucy, and not keeping Rufus safe, he deserved worse. Hauling the entire team’s belongings up the narrow chute was a mild form of self-punishment and an attempt to physically work off some of the wretchedness wreaking havoc in his system. At the moment, he was really no good for anything else. 

Between runs, Mason and Denise climbed aboveground to meet the moving vans and work out travel logistics. With considerable effort, Flynn clambered up after them, and when he made it through the trapdoor he was surprised at the warm touch of sunlight on his skin. The strange, syncopated time they lived barely seemed to pass in any direction, but to the world, it was spring. Late afternoon on an ordinary Monday. 

Flynn straightened and assessed his surroundings, for once finding no immediate threat of harm. It was actually a beautiful day out. Classic Californian weather, mild and dry with a breeze sweetened by the chaparral, not a cloud in the endless blue sky. A vista of low foothills sprawled out before him, vivid with the first flush of wildflowers. Hard to believe in such a thing as war when a family of valley quail was chirping cheerfully in the brush. 

Flynn felt better just breathing outdoors, standing eyes closed under the openhanded sun. But when he turned to help Lucy out of the hatch, he saw her flinch as the light hit her, tensing like she’d been struck. He knelt and took a hold of her arm, tugged gently to call her back, blinking, from wherever she’d gone. They walked together to the road, close enough to brush sleeves every other step, following the sound of Mason’s voice ahead. 

“You want _me_ to drive _this_.” Flynn and Lucy came up on Mason gesturing incredulously to a secondhand minivan with a look of horror. “And I thought things couldn’t get any worse.”

Denise rolled her eyes. “Connor, it’s not going to kill you. This is the most inconspicuous thing we could possibly drive. Either help load the van or help Jiya finish packing.”

The minivan in question sat low to the ground on worn-out tires. Teal-gray paint flaked off as Mason opened the trunk, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the bumper stickers that proclaimed _Baby on Board_ , _USE METRIC_ , _use protection_ , and _Make America Green Again_. 

Denise knew that Mason used to manufacture his own line of space-age cars and was privately amused at the irony. She had sent a very confused junior agent to buy the car off Craigslist with cash, a fake ID, and strict orders to keep the entire transaction classified and never tell Mason it was her idea. 

“From billionaire industrialist to soccer mom,” Mason grumbled, but he looked a little less pale and a lot more purposeful now that they had the outlines of a plan to save Rufus. There was work to be done. 

At heart Mason was an engineer, an inventor, a problem-solver — he wasn’t good at being idle. With all the romanticism and keenness and arrogance of a scientist on the cutting edge, he’d believed he could improve almost anything with enough ingenuity and skill, and had been proven both right and unspeakably wrong by the invention of the time machine. Traveling back to one’s own timeline was pure fascination to the physicist in him, a sensational challenge to the programmer, a last chance at salvation for the truest part of him that thought of Rufus as a son. It was feral hope leaping across his synapses, devastating as any drug.

Shame still coursed through him at the thought of how he’d gotten Rufus embroiled in Rittenhouse and nearly eliminated at the order to start training Jiya as a replacement pilot. Mason wasn’t directly to blame for Rufus’ death, but he still felt culpable for putting him in so much danger in the first place. He’d been protecting Rufus ever since middle school, mostly just ensuring the boy had enough support and space to become the brilliant engineer Mason knew he’d be. Somewhere along the way Rufus had also become the person Mason cared for most in the world, and he’d done an abysmal job of showing it the past couple of years. Though the shine of hero worship had long worn away, Rufus forgave him easily, still that loyal, generous, tenderhearted boy underneath the increasingly war-weary time jumper.

Mason took the measure of the van, roughly estimating how much room they had to fit all the boxes and people. “I think we’ll have to take out these back two rows of seats for the computers,” he said, frowning.

“No need,” Denise replied casually, as the sound of a second vehicle grew louder. A somewhat newer Ford Transit came into view, crunching on the gravel drive and backing in next to the minivan. The cargo van was white with rainbow sprinkles painted on it, bearing a large circular decal that read “Monterey Bay Ice Cream Co.” and featured an otter eating a scoop of mint chocolate chip in the center. 

“You’ve gone mad,” Mason pronounced. 

Flynn raised his eyebrows but looked otherwise unconcerned. Lucy’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t say anything as an armed guard hopped out, handed the keys to Denise, and headed back down the road on foot. 

Mason turned to Denise. “And the reason we can’t have normal federal SUVs is…?” 

“Those aren’t really authorized for extralegal black ops involving time travel, supposedly-dead civilians, and escaped felons — sorry, Flynn. We’re also trying to keep this off-books so Rittenhouse can’t track us.” 

“Ah. Grand.”

“Sweet ride,” Future Wyatt called, coming up behind the group with three more boxes. He set them next to the ice-cream truck with a thump. At the others’ looks, he tossed off a grin and shrugged. “I’m serious, I love this thing. We had it for years.” 

“It’s true.” Future Lucy and Present Wyatt materialized behind him each carrying two more boxes. “He fixed it about four times before it gave out for good.” 

“Nice to see her again though, huh?” Future Wyatt patted the van affectionately.

“Sure is, Wyatt,” Future Lucy said with an indulgent smile. She turned to the group. “This is the last of the personal stuff. Wyatt, Wyatt, and Connor, can you go help Jiya with the rest of the Lifeboat tech? We can put all of that into the Transit when it’s packed.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the Wyatts answered in unison. There was a painfully awkward pause in which Future Wyatt smirked and Present Wyatt wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Right then,” Mason said. “Shall we?” 

The men set off towards the bunker. Denise looked at Present Lucy, who managed to appear even more uncomfortable now that she was standing between just her future self and Flynn. “Lucy, are you up for helping me load the minivan? Flynn’s out of commission.”

“What? Oh. Minivan.” She glanced at Flynn, who gave a little nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Since we’re running out of time, I’ll update Flynn on tactical procedures,” Future Lucy said. “He can fill the rest of you in later.”

With that, everyone was busy again. Connor, Jiya, and Future Wyatt worked quickly to pack all the equipment, which Present Wyatt painstakingly carried up the ladder and to the vans. 

Denise and Lucy ended up removing only the very back seats in the minivan to make all the personal belongings fit. They really didn’t have much. 

Flynn and Future Lucy sat under a tree nearby as she told him what they’d learned about crossing their own timelines without dying. She talked him through avoiding paradoxes and spotting fluctuations that meant their time loop was about to collapse, and issued many, many warnings to leave the rest of history alone. 

When it seemed like Future Lucy was close to the end of her briefing, Flynn asked his question. He knew the answer by now, but he had to be certain.

“You’re not the Lucy who gave me the journal, are you.” Flynn tried and failed to hide the disappointment in his tone. 

“Garcia…” Lucy looked genuinely regretful, but his heart still did a flip at the use of his first name. “I wish I could tell you I was her. I wish you had the chance to see her again and find out _why_. But we’ve lost track of the histories that have diverged — for all I know, your Lucy will visit tomorrow from her timeline, coming straight from that bar in 2014.”

Flynn didn’t correct her, didn’t say _my Lucy is here, now, right over there_. He just listened as this Future Lucy continued in a quiet voice, introspective now.

“When we jump back, we’ll be returning to a whole different reality. There’s really no way of predicting what might change, since we’re trying to rewrite our timeline on purpose. Again.” She looked down at her hands, plucking absently at the grass, then looked back up at him with a melancholy smile. “But maybe, if you pull off this rescue, one day we’ll wake up to find Rufus there.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy.” Flynn opened his good arm to her, and she came easily into his embrace. “For everything you’ve lost.”

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life, Garcia.”

A horn suddenly sounded, and “Hello” by Adele began playing from the direction of the bunker. 

Future Lucy chuckled. “Five-minute warning from our Lifeboat.”

Flynn shook his head at her. “This is maudlin even for you, Lucy.”

“We have to get our kicks in somewhere.” She got up and went over to pull Present Lucy aside. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk at all. 

“You can do this,” Future Lucy said firmly. “Don’t give up. You’re not alone, and you’re stronger than you think.” 

“You- you’re giving me a pep talk?” Present Lucy was incredulous, and then angry. “Rufus is dead! Everyone I love dies or leaves. Flynn took a bullet to the chest! Emma’s still alive, Rittenhouse is still out there, and we never get Amy back, do we?” Lucy was talking too fast, demanding answers she knew she couldn’t have, perilously close to losing it in front of her intimidatingly self-possessed older self. 

“Maybe this time you will get her back. Rufus too.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I have to. And you have to trust yourself and trust your team. You'll need each other. You won't lose them.”

Present Lucy scoffed. “There’s a precedent.”

“Not a prophecy.” Future Lucy was emphatic. She willed her younger self to believe her this time. “Everything changes. You — all of you — can change it.”

Present Lucy was silent, so Future Lucy added one last thing. “I know you’re fighting for Amy and Rufus and everyone else in history because that’s what we do, but Lucy, you’re allowed to fight for yourself, too. For your own shot at a real future.” She held her younger self’s gaze until she was satisfied the message got through, then looked over at Flynn, who had been watching them from under the tree. At her look he stood and started to walk over, and she was reassured to see that he headed unfalteringly for the Lucy of his own timeline. 

Across the clearing, Future Wyatt had cornered Present Wyatt. “Get your shit together and fix this,” he said sharply, his voice hard and harsh. A few more years on the run would take care of the rest of his Army conditioning, but he knew his younger self would respond to the order in his tone. 

Sure enough, Present Wyatt snapped to attention. He looked thoroughly irritated at both versions of himself. 

Future Wyatt put a hand on his shoulder. “Pull your head out of your ass and figure out what you’re fighting for. Forget about all the personal crap. Just be a good teammate.” He paused. “It’ll get better.”

“Oh yeah? When?”

“As soon as you make it better.”

Present Wyatt grimaced, then nodded. 

Future Wyatt and Future Lucy said their goodbyes and good lucks, and then they were gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story switched itself to present tense. So sorry, it surprised me too, this happens because I write in chronological order without a single bit of planning. My bad. Onward!

Mason and Flynn take the minivan so Flynn doesn’t have to suffer another jump with his injury, Wyatt takes the ice-cream truck because someone has to, and Denise follows in her own nondescript sedan. They drive and drive, heading east through the low Coastal Ranges, across the Central Valley, and up into the John Muir Wilderness of the Sierra Nevadas.

Lucy and Jiya stay behind, waiting for the vanguard to get to the mine, do a security sweep, and send adjusted coordinates for a more precise jump. They’re not exactly sure what the new space will be like, and no one wants to risk the Lifeboat landing in a not-hollowed-out part the mountain. 

The soldiers had protested leaving them unprotected, but it’s either waiting in this bunker or the new one for seven hours while the cars drive across the state at non-quantum speeds. The Lifeboat provides a quick escape in any case, and truth be told, both women need some, well, time. They are grateful for the breathing room left in the wake of the team’s departure. 

 *

Evening creeps in and full dark follows. By the time Denise calls on a secure line to let them know it’s safe to jump, it’s nearly midnight on the longest day of their lives. Lucy nearly falls out of the Lifeboat without the rolling staircase, and Mason rushes to catch her before offering Jiya a hand. It’s all they can do to stumble down the corridor to the barracks, where Wyatt and Flynn have aired out a few of the rooms and cleaned most of the cobwebs from the utilitarian bunks. Though each room has two sets of bunk-beds, there are enough rooms for each person to have their own, and Denise watches as her charges retreat one by one into separate quarters. 

She wonders if they’ll be too isolated withdrawing into their separate pain. She loves her team, but they aren’t exactly known for reaching out when they need help. Then again they’re all adults, and there are no guidelines for what to do when a time-travelling, indiscriminately-killing, power-hungry cabal is murdering your loved ones and forcing emergency safehouse relocations. There haven’t been guidelines since they first started running missions. 

Denise knows she won’t be able to sleep anytime soon, so she pulls out her files and sits at the kitchen table. Might as well get started on vetting candidates for the secondary team that Future Lucy suggested. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Denise takes a moment to survey her new base of operations.

The mine is eerie and cavernous, a stadium-sized hole in the heart of Mammoth Mountain with jagged stone walls arcing more than fifty feet overhead. Evidence of dynamite blasts mar the rock faces, and construction lamps are strung up on irregular protrusions like industrial fairy lights, austerely illuminating the main workspace. The Lifeboat sits in a place of honor, positioned centrally between two additional floodlights and a scattering of workbenches piled high with boxes of tools. To one side, a 150-kilowatt commercial generator lies dormant, awaiting conversion into a dedicated charging dock. Adjacent to the two hulking machines, banks of sleeping computer monitors stand like tombstones, flanking servers that wink and hum as they work into the night. 

A railroad track runs through the middle of the room, linking the mine below to the barricaded entrance above. It splits the giant cave not quite in half, and on the smaller side the walls slope in to form an alcove still spacious enough to fit a full kitchen, a single long table, and a huddle of unexpectedly luxurious leather couches. Infrared lamps and space heaters ward off the worst of the cold, but it is a subterranean bunker, and the temperature hovers in the damp low sixties.

Denise shivers and spreads out her files, pulling out a pen and a yellow legal notepad. Even though the entire recruitment process has been digitized and algorithm-ized for a decade, she still prefers to do the first pass on paper. She likes to feel how thick the files are, to see the faces arranged in front of her, to physically assemble a potential team. She busies herself making handwritten notes in the margins and drawing up a master list of calls she has to make in the morning.

It’s not even an hour later when Flynn appears in the hall, still dressed in his rumpled travelling clothes like he hasn’t even attempted to sleep. He pauses just shy of the table, taking stock of her late-night enterprise and equally sleepless state. She isn’t expecting it when he nods at her in greeting, without a trace of annoyance or malice left in his weary features. In fact it’s casual, like he’s a colleague who’s stayed up late with classified files more than a few times himself. Like he understands exactly why she couldn’t possibly rest, why she’s resisting idleness with work that could wait till morning. 

Flynn walks over to the cluster of couches that make up the living room and drops unceremoniously onto the largest one, a huge, off-white, soft leather sofa deep enough that his feet don’t even touch the ground when he scoots all the way back into it. His couch is roughly parallel to the table, so Flynn is somewhat still facing Denise, and it feels strangely reassuring to be in the presence of another human being here in the isolating depths of the mountain. 

Denise observes impassively as Flynn attempts to adjust his sling, grimaces in pain, and gives up. Flynn tracks her as she rises, makes her way to the unmarked boxes piled haphazardly near the Lifeboat, and opens one with uncanny accuracy to extract a first aid kit. She walks back over to Flynn and holds out four ibuprofen, correctly figuring the dosage and the fact that he would rather dry-swallow than test the water in the hundred-year-old pipes. He’ll go searching for the filter tomorrow.

Flynn sits back Denise returns to her work, but it’s not long before Connor comes out of his room and lowers himself onto the loveseat opposite Flynn, tipping his head so far back he’s gazing up at the ceiling. He’s pale and drawn, more desolate than he ever looked when he was making toasts to oblivion.

Jiya follows minutes later and perches on the seat next to Connor, sinking into the cushions and drawing her knees to her chest like she wishes she could disappear. She’s out of tears, utterly done, but she knows if she stayed alone in her stone tomb of a room any longer she’d start thinking self-harm was a good idea. It’s a comfort to be in the company of friends, even though she can hardly stand it. She can hardly stand anything.

It’s Lucy who emerges next from the darkened corridor, hesitating for the barest moment before curling up next to Flynn on his enormous cloud of a couch. Her choice prompts a revelation. It lends him the last bit of courage necessary to go ahead and curl an arm around her, to give in at last to his instinct and his need, to trust that Lucy is following hers. He pulls her closer, surer of her than ever before, and she settles against his chest with a tremulous sigh. 

The others are looking on with a lingering concern that dissolves into tenderness, and Jiya leans towards Mason, resting her head on his shoulder. 

There aren’t clocks or phones or moonlit shadows moving across the floor. No one knows how much time has gone by when Wyatt appears, shuffling blearily from his room with a thin gray blanket. He blinks at the assembly, who all watch him warily, and retreats down the hall only to return a minute later with both arms full of actual fluffy down comforters. 

Wyatt stands uneasily at the edge of the living space, awkward and painfully self-conscious, until Lucy – of course, Lucy – stands to take a comforter from him. She folds the navy duvet around Jiya, hands a second one to Connor, and brings a third to Denise at the table. The remaining quilt she accepts for herself and Flynn, spreading it over the both of them as she tucks herself back into his side. Flynn gathers her close as Wyatt claims the single dark brown recliner without a word.

Flynn looks down to see Lucy’s fingers open and close around a phantom locket, grasping for a comfort she’ll never again have. Keeping his arm around her, he untucks his hand from her waist and turns it over, supplication and offering in one. He holds his hand steady, waiting but not worried, until she touches her icy fingers to his palm. Her small hand warms in his as the six of them sit a motionless vigil, waiting for the night to pass.


End file.
